Lëtzebuergesch
by coeurgryffondor
Summary: When it's your only sister's birthday, and she names you her guest of honor, you have to go. And if you end up sitting next to the woman you've sort of had it bad for for centuries, well then that's just fate.


Names used: **Belgium** (_Emma [Emmy] Rose_), **France** (_Francis Bonnefoy_), **Germany** (_Ludwig [Lutz] Beilschmidt_), **Luxembourg** (_Lammert Rose_), **Monaco** (_Camille Bonnefoy_), **Netherlands** (_Marijn Heeren_), **Romano** (_Lovino Vargas_), **Seborga** (_Giordano Vargas_), **Spain** (_Antonio Fernández Carriedo_)

Author's note: GerBel, FraNeth, SebMona, LuxMona, Spamano.

I really do like the idea of Luxembourg and it makes me sad that he doesn't have an official design yet. So until that possible day in the future, I give you this. Where the LuxMona came from, I don't know, it just sort of happened. :D

* * *

**Lëtzebuergesch**

Emmy gives it her all in dragging him from his desk but that doesn't mean he stops refusing, so much more work to for tomorrow and then to get started on the next day's, and if he was lucky maybe he'd let himself go to bed at three in the morning to get up at five–

"Lammert!" Emmy cries out finally, throwing her arms around her younger brother. "Lammert, please!"

"I have work to do," the duchy reminds his sister, trying to free his arms.

"But it's my special day!" she protests, giggling. "You have to be nice to me on my special day."

"I am being nice, Emma, but I do have work to–" A fluff of hair as she throws her head on his shoulder stops the young man, her grip tight around his chest. "Alright, alright. Let me just finish what I was working on, jot down some notes, and I'll be ready in about five minutes."

"Thank you," the Belgian coos and her little brother kisses her head.

* * *

Lammert Rose knew he had few fellow nations to call his friend. He also knew most of the people he was (relatively) close with were really Emmy's friends. After centuries of struggles and being the small guys that were easy to pick on, the two Roses did enjoy being able to sit equal with their larger and more powerful neighbors. Or, as would more accurately describe his current surroundings, being able to stand equal with their larger and more powerful neighbors all crammed into the kitchen of Emmy and Lammert's summer house half way between their permanent residences.

At the stove Francis Bonnefoy, with his hair pulled up and back, laughs lazily and stirs something in a pot. His eyes twinkle when they fall on Lammert, winking, causing his companion to turn around. Francis's sister Camille, Lammert was loathe to admit, had been the object of his affections for much, much longer than would have been considered normal by their standards. Yet she was too Italian and he too German for Lammert to every think that that would have been a good idea. Her lips press together in an almost line of regret as she looks at him, but the Luxembourgian tells himself that that's just his imagination going wild.

On the French republic's other side Antonio Fernández Carriedo speaks excitedly with the siblings, Lovino Vargas come up from behind him with his normal sour look. The southern half of a nation looks over his shoulder before back, making some comment that if Camille was tiring of dating the Italian micronation she called her boyfriend who didn't know how he good he had it, he would be happy to show her how a real Italian man charms a lady. Sometimes Lammert forgot what womanizers the three Italian brothers could be.

"I will keep that in mind," Camille responds in cool French but already Lammert has moved around the other part of the kitchen to escape. Quickly he finds what Lovino had been staring at with such disgust: Lammert's brother Marijn is speaking quietly with Ludwig Beilschmidt, Emmy happily wrapped up in her latest boyfriend's arms. She smiles and waves at Lammert and so he feels obliged to join them.

The conversation, carried out in German instead of French, deals mainly with economic conditions until Emmy announces she doesn't want to talk about such depressing things, turning in Ludwig's arms to pout before kissing him. Marijn, being the older brother and thus the one delegated to protecting whatever virtue they pretended the centuries-old, mind-of-her-own Belgian has left, grimaces at the sight.

"Marius!" Francis yells. "Come here and taste this for me." Eyes still trained on the couple Marijn obliges the Frenchman, slipping a hand into Francis's back pocket as he tries the offered food.

"Are they–" Lammert starts quietly. His answer is a simultaneous yes from his sister and no from Ludwig.

"I thought they were," Emmy says seriously, her eyebrows drawn together.

"Nein, they're just…" and Ludwig trails off, making some sort of gesture to indicate that no language had a proper vocabulary to describe what the French and Dutch nations are right now. Lammert understands completely.

* * *

When the afternoon dinner is finally served at the outside table under a large tree, Emmy grabs Lammert's hand to pull him along with her. "I want you sitting beside me!" she insists, taking the seat at the head of the table. Ludwig is to her right; the duchy takes the seat on the left, looking down the table to find Marijn at the other end of the table. Between the Dutchman and German are Lovino and Antonio, the four of them striking Lammert as probably the oddest combination possible.

It also means that Camille sits beside Lammert, her brother having laid claim to Marijn's other side.

Despite any apprehensions he's so far felt today, the meal itself is uneventful and delicious. The food is French and German and Italian and Dutch and Spanish, Emmy happily trying everything and directing her boyfriend to get her more. Ludwig, Antonio, and Emmy speak about their plans for the next Eurovision. Further down Lovino, Marijn, and Francis discuss beer, wine, and vodka. Camille says simply, "If you are going to become tongue tied say nothing and I will join my brother's conversation."

Lammert stays silent, listening to his sister happily speak.

* * *

After dessert they scatter throughout the garden, Lammert seeking out his fish pond. In the smooth surface of the water he can see his reflection: the pale green eyes he shares with his siblings, his dirty blond hair that has been made sloppy by the excessive amount of times he's run his hands through it today, his polo shirt and the silver chain around his neck that has the cross his sister gave him long, long ago.

"Are you trying to hide from me?" a high but smug voice asks.

"Not you specifically," Lammert admits and Camille sits beside him. "How's Giordano?"

"Do you really want to know about my boyfriend?"

"No but it's better than pretending you don't have one."

The Monegasque shakes her head, a wind blowing as she undoes the braid of her hair. "Have you found anyone yet?"

"Well," Lammert starts, blushing slightly in pride, "there is one woman. She's still in university."

"Is she pretty?"

"I think she's very pretty, but I don't know if everyone would agree with me."

"Good," Camille says tersely and no words follow that for a long time.

Across the pond they watch Francis and Marijn disappear into the woods. To their right, way off to where the shade breaks and a large patch of sun shines through the trees, Lovino is laying on Antonio's chest stealing slow kisses. Behind them he can hear his sister giggling at Ludwig's low words, too soft for him to make out what he was saying.

"We were simply a missed connection is all," Camille suddenly announces. "You and I, I mean."

"I know what you mean," Lammert laments. He likes the young woman he's been seeing, who's British and smart and lets him correct her French or German and wants to learn Luxembourgish. And yet the centuries where Lammert stayed with Francis, where they spoke often times at great length about the virtues of Camille, where she was a beautiful, unattainable thing he pined so long for– those still come to the forefront of his memories when he's alone or else when Lammert is sitting beside the small nation. "I do think I loved you, for a period of time."

Her eyes find his, her blinking slowly, before Camille asks, "Do you no longer love me?" Lammert shrugs.

"I don't know. I've tried to move on with my life..."

"But the world moves on without us," Camille finishes.

"Oui."

"Oui."

Her head comes to rest on his shoulder, Lammert gently laying his own against her soft hair. A fish comes up and breaks the surface of the pond's calm water.

* * *

With most of the nations having left Lammert sits in the kitchen with Marijn and Ludwig, Francis coming in yawning and scratching his stomach. "I'm going to bed," he mumbles before kissing Marijn on the lips, kissing Lammert on the cheek, and slapping Ludwig's ass. Then the French nation stumbles out past Emmy, her face washed and hair pulled back.

"Today was nice," she says happily, taking Marijn's arm and standing beside him. She laces her fingers in with Lammert's who's sitting on the kitchen counter, smiling at Ludwig.

"Would have been nicer without the Spaniard," their brother complains.

"At least Lammert was here," Ludwig points out and the Luxembourgian's cheeks flush a little at the sudden attention.

"Couldn't miss my only sister's birthday."

"Lord knows she hasn't had too many of them," Marijn says sarcastically and at that, the arm slapping and name calling from the Belgian begin.

* * *

As he goes to bed he finds a text message on his phone.

« Camille: I broke up with him. It just didn't feel right anymore. »

Lammert smiles to himself, closing his eyes and savoring the end of this unproductive but wonderful day.


End file.
